Today's Lesson
by cindergal
Summary: She didn't look that much like Sophia, not really.


**This story was written for the trope_bingo prompt "rites of passage/coming of age" and the h/c bingo prompt "lost childhood." It was inspired in part from scenes from the Season 4 trailer.**

"Today we're talking about knives," Carol said, lugging over a box of various types and sizes of blades and setting it down on the floor in front of her. The children looked on in fascination, and she couldn't help but wish that they showed half as much interest when she was teaching them about fractions.

When the leadership committee that they'd formed had decided that any child old enough to cut their own meat was old enough to learn how to take out a walker, she'd been the logical choice to teach them how to do it. Carol had been an elementary school teacher before she'd had Sophia, after all. And, as Glenn had kindly pointed out, she was pretty damn good with a knife, too. She smiled at the memory, catching the eye of a little girl in the back of the room, lingering on the fringes of the group.

Her name was Sarah, and she didn't look that much like Sophia, not really. She didn't have the same hair or eyes or the adorable smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that Carol missed so much. But there was no denying that something about her sweet, quiet manner and shy smile made Carol's heart ache with their familiarity. Carol motioned her forward.

"Have you ever held a knife like this before?" she asked. When the little girl shook her head, Carol selected one of the smaller ones from the box. She knew it to have a comfortable grip that would fit well in the girl's small hand. When Sarah hesitated to take it, Carol smiled at her encouragingly. "It's okay to be a little scared. In fact, it's good. It means you have respect for the weapon, and that's very, very important. Sarah finally took the knife from her and smiled proudly. "Great job," Carol said. She was pleased when the children listened intently as Carol explained how to hold and carry a knife safely. They'd start with that, and move up to self-defense in later lessons. She was about to discuss the importance of cleaning and sharpening when she sensed someone watching her.

"What the hell is going on here?"

All the kids' heads swiveled to look behind them at a large man who loomed in the doorway - Sarah's father. Carol didn't know him well; he'd kept mostly to himself up until now, quietly grieving the wife he'd lost shortly before he and his daughter had been taken in by the prison group. She didn't remember seeing him in the meeting they'd had discussing the new curriculum with the parents.

When Carol didn't immediately answer him, he stepped further into the room and spoke again, raising his voice. "I said, what the hell is going on in here? I thought you were teaching them spelling and arithmetic!"

Carol stood up quickly. "Hey kids, I think it's lunch time! Return your weapons to the box carefully and go on over to the dining room. I'll see you again after you eat." The kids did as they were told and scampered out of the room - all except for Sarah, who remained there, looking anxious, until her father nodded to her to leave.

"I _am_ teaching them English and Math," Carol said, once all the children had left the room. "I'm also trying to teach them how to survive."

"Are you people insane? They're kids! This isn't safe! Teaching them to run around with knives and encouraging them to try and kill biters." He continued to advance on Carol as he spoke, his voice getting louder and louder. "You're going to end up getting them killed!"

Carol wasn't unfamiliar with men who tried to intimidate physically, of course, but it had been a long time since anyone had tried it with her. She was happy to find it didn't scare her anymore. She'd survived threats much more intimidating than this guy. If anything, it pissed her off, so she took a moment and tried to reign in her temper.

"That's exactly what we're trying to _prevent_," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Look, lady, I don't care what kind of power trip you people are on. We should be protecting our kids from these things, not asking them to fight them. My Sarah should be playing with dolls, not knives."

"I understand how you feel," Carol said. And the thing was, she did. She knew exactly how he felt. "But this is a different world we live in now. These children need to know…"

"Oh, who the hell are you to tell me what my kid needs to know? You don't even have any kids!"

From the corner of her eye she saw Daryl step into the room, and she wondered how long he'd been standing there in the shadow of the doorway. He didn't say a word, allowing her to handle the situation the way she thought best. But he was there.

Carol closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "No, you're right. I don't have any kids," she said, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes. "At least, not anymore. My daughter was about your Sarah's age when this all started. I thought I could protect her, that our group could protect her, but I was wrong. And maybe if she'd had a weapon when she got separated from us and had known how to use it, she'd still be alive today. I'll never know for sure, but at the very least, she would have had a chance."

To his credit, the man had the decency to look chagrined. "I…I'm sorry, about your little girl. I didn't know. Jesus." He ran a hand over his face, and Carol could see he was nearing his breaking point. She made a mental note to ask Rick to have a talk with him later.

"It's all right," Carol said.

"No, it ain't all right," Daryl said, unable to let the man off the hook as easily as Carol had. Sarah's father started and turned around to face him as Daryl walked over to them, stopping a few feet away. "Everybody here's lost people, man. You ain't no special case."

"I know. You're right. That was uncalled for," he said, shifting his gaze back to Carol. "I just…I can't lose her. She's all I've got left."

Carl reached out and put her hand on his forearm, giving it a squeeze. "Then give her the best chance you can to stay alive."

The man nodded and went to leave, then hesitated. "Your daughter…what was her name?" he asked.

Carol smiled. "Sophia."

"That's a real pretty name," he said, before he turned around and walked out.

Carol sighed before bending down to pick up the box full of knives so she could put them away until the next lesson. As she expected, Daryl was by her side in a moment, picking up the other end of the heavy box, sharing the load.

"Thanks," she said, looking up at him with a smile.

He simply nodded in return. "Any time."


End file.
